The War Council
by Korean Pearl
Summary: They are the elite of the fighting Nadar. Most are murderers, the leaders of murderers. They are the Nadar Princess' War Council, and this is their story.
1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer**: Not only do I not own Applegate's stuff, this chapter is Wraithlord42's work. He's my very excellent beta, and since I was struggling with characterization for the members in Maya's War Council, he wrote this for me. We will go through all of the members of the War Council in this fic and take a slight break from Nadar Chronicles 3 as I finish writing the 5th chapter.

**Claimer: **Although this character is technically mine, it is very much based off of Wraithlord42 and I really don't own Wraithlord42… but I do own the other characters that will come up in this fic.

--------

**THE WAR COUNCIL**

_So how can you tell me you're lonely?  
And say for you that the sun don't shine?  
Let me take you by the hand, and lead you through the streets of London  
I'll show you something that'll make you change your mind.  
- Anon._

Chapter 1:

My name is Jeremy.

I'm a killer. A murderer. What they call a Nadar. One of many serving Princess Maya in her quest to do… whatever it is she wants. I can't even remember these days.

I'm a deadeye shot with any gun, hand-held or ship-mounted. It's an odd little talent of mine. Useful, in my current life.

People know me as a cynical joker, and I suppose that's what I am now. There's a saying that if you repeat a lie enough times you start to believe it yourself. I can't be bothered to craft myself a more interesting persona. For now, I'm just the one that makes stupid jokes and laughs at people's idealism.

I'm from England, whatever the hell that matters. Some people in our group still think nationality means something. Mostly Americans.

People ask me about my past. I spin them stupid stories about finding a gun when I was five and becoming a Nadar two weeks later. I don't give a damn what they think.

Except for Maya.

Maybe someday I'll tell her the whole truth.

-------

Shards of smashed glass were littered across the carpet, glinting in the dull orange light from the streetlamps. The cold London air invaded the darkened house, spreading its wintry fingers across a sprawled body all in white.

Juliet had still been wearing her wedding gown when she died. It had become her shroud.

A pool of crimson spread slowly across the linoleum floor of the kitchen, running in carmine streams from gashes in her throat, her belly, her breast.

The man who had killed her was crouched by the fridge, frantically guzzling last night's curry and hacking at a block of Cheddar cheese. He looked like a beggar. He stank like one too. A vagrant, a thief and now a murderer.

I watched silently. I had arrived in the house to find all the lights off, and a downstairs window smashed.

Most people would call the police straight away. But I was curious, and worried. I had a gun – a pistol from my stint in the Territorial Army, certainly illegal but something I found myself unable to throw away – and I knew how to use it.

Curiosity killed the cat. Among other things.

The beggar finished the curry, licked the orange paste from his fingers and shoved the bowl aside, then rummaged in the back of the fridge. I took a step into the room, the gun raised before me.

I was going to kill him.

He must have heard my feet on the lino. He tried to obscure himself behind the counter, grabbing for the bloodstained kitchen knife.

As if in a dream, I felt the gun kick in my hand. Saw the man's head blow apart in a red mist.

I crossed the room with measured steps, leveled the pistol and fired three more times into the beggar's crumpled body. Brass cartridges clinked on the floor. His body slumped with the knife still in his hand, a silent scream contorting what was left of his face.

Silently, I walked to Juliet's stricken form. I don't know why, but I bent down and kissed her gently on the lips.

Something dripped onto the lino. It might have been a tear, or it might just have been a drop of blood from the slaughtered figure of my beautiful bride.

_Ring, ring._

_Ring, ring._

_Click._

"Mmf? What?"

"George."

"Is that you, Jeremy?"

"Yes."

"What the hell time do you call this, then?"

"One AM, according to the car clock."

"…Isn't it your _wedding night?_ Shouldn't you be whispering sweet nothings in your lovely wife's ear or something just about now? Not, you know, randomly calling your friends in the middle of the night?"

"Juliet's dead," I said in unreadable tones.

There was a long pause.

"What… the… HELL?"

"Some lowlife came into the house when I was driving Cami back home. He killed her, George. He _killed her_."

"And what happened next?"

"I blew his head off."

"With what?"

"A Browning Hi-Power I kept from the Territorials."

"…damn."

"I need to get out of the country right now."

"Where are you?"

"Upper Street. I'm heading towards Heathrow Airport right now."

"Then what?"

"George, I need five thousand quid in cash for a plane ticket and spending money right now. You can have everything I own if I can have that cash."

"…You're insane. I'd be tried as an accomplice after the fact. You just murdered someone, Jeremy. You want me to get you out of the country? I do anything, it's _my_ arse on the line. You'll be off in Swaziland or Turkmenistan or wherever. I'll be in Highbury prison with madmen and rapists and god knows what."

"Five thousand. Cash. You can keep the Beamer too at the airport, I won't need it any more."

"You're mad. You're bloody crazy. I should call Scotland Yard and have them send a special squad after you right now."

"Terminal Four."

"I'll be there in an hour."

My jet-black BMW pulled into the Heathrow car park, lit by a bright full moon, and I hopped out in a vague pretence of an upper-class idiot. At that time, I was barely eighteen, an unremarkable youth from a middle-class family, known among my few friends for cynicism and a tendency towards black humour. I'd only recently finished university, and had yet to take up a job. I was just like any number of students in London, except for my sudden and spontaneous marriage to my old friend and lover Juliet Drayton.

And I had left my twenty-year-old bride and an unidentified beggar lying dead at my home.

I didn't even feel grief right now. Right now, I had blocked all inconvenient emotions from my mind. Grief and rage could come later. I needed to disappear.

I'd thrown the Browning out of the window halfway to Heathrow. What use would it be in an airport?

I had various electronic bank accounts in case I needed anything, but I dare not use them before I was a long way from London. A different continent would be favourite. I doubted anyone had found the horrific scene at my home, or would for a long time, but the police could easily track me to Heathrow – and beyond – if I used one of the cash machines there.

A powder-blue hatchback ground to a halt. The window creaked down, and a hand came out holding a thick brown envelope.

"Take the damn cash, Jeremy."

I grasped it as though I would never let it go again, and shoved it into a jacket pocket without checking the contents. I turned to the window, but my old friend's face was shrouded in shadow.

"Promise me I'll never have to hear from you ever again."

"I promise," I said sadly. "It's been good knowing you, George. So long."

The car screeched off without bothering to reply.

I swore quietly and stalked into the terminal.

The great Departures board was covered in flight times and destinations, as diverse as the aeroplanes that flew them.

Somewhere I could fit in without too much trouble. Somewhere far away.

Ireland. No.

France. No.

Ukraine. No.

India. Maybe. No.

Japan. No.

America. What the hell. It was a big country. They spoke English, more or less.

I'd always wanted to fly in one of the Concorde jets anyway.

I found it far easier to fit in the US than I'd earlier imagined. Turning my online funds into cash in one state and moving to live in another, I felt safe from the law. If Scotland Yard decided I'd murdered my wife and a random beggar, they'd barely even know what continent I was in.

I ran a gun shop. I sold people instruments of death. I am indirectly responsible for the deaths of dozens of innocent people, killed by guns from my shop. I turned a peaceful suburb into a war zone. I sold everything up to rocket-propelled grenades and antitank land mines. You can get away with all kinds of stuff in America, it would seem.

Then one evening a man approached me, asked me to sell the property. Said he belonged to a community group called the Sharing, and that this group wanted to have a community centre in my area. He didn't want to buy guns.

Business had been very slow. I needed money more than anything else. I didn't want to go to the authorities for benefits. Legally, I didn't exist.

I would have sold the building in an instant if I hadn't seen right away he was wearing a concealed weapon.

So I managed to get a bug on him, asked him to let me think about it for a while. He went outside to talk to his colleagues. They didn't quite sound like community people to me.

"Will he accept?"

"He will. The stupid man hasn't sold so much as a bullet in weeks. He has no choice but to accept."

"Good. We'll have the infestation centre up in no time, a human host with a lot of underworld contacts, and of course we can always use more weapons. Much easier than a violent firefight, don't you think?"

"We have four Hork-Bajir in the truck, just in case."

"I'm going back in a few minutes. The man says he wants to think it over. I think he's just trying to preserve as much dignity as possible."

"Human behaviour is so absurd."

There wasn't enough time to blow up the whole shop. I had nowhere to run away to. The idea of being a "host" to some people who apparently weren't human was not an attractive one, but…

_What the hell_, I thought. _If you have to go, you may as well go in style_.

I blew up two of their cars with RPGs before any of them knew what was happening. They panicked. The side of a lorry across the road was suddenly shredded, and four inhuman shapes leapt out.

I came out of the shop screaming defiance at the world, and the guns leapt and sparkled in my fingers.

They infested me, needless to say. I was a marksman for the Yeerk Empire.

I can remember an old man, so much like the beggar who murdered Juliet, shrieking "The Yeerks! The Yeerks are here!" and my hand coming up and killing him in a flash of red.

I can remember a local politician calling out to a crowd, "And Dapsen Lumber Company will _not_ receive permission to cut down out beloved forests," and the rifle kicking against my shoulder and the man falling with a neat round hole in his head.

I can remember shooting from the top of a truck at a pair of bladed monsters – Hork-Bajir – running through the woods. My bullets land clean, but it doesn't even slow them down. The thing in my head was working for human physiology.

My Yeerk using my skill with weapons to kill enemy after enemy of its masters – escaping aliens, annoying human officials, incompetent fellow Controllers. Murder blurs into murder. It doesn't matter any more.

I ended up on a spaceship, rebelling against the Empire. A different Yeerk in my head now. One less indifferent to life. He doesn't want to kill my targets. I'm past caring.

I met Maya. I escaped with her and her band of Nadar, and the group of aliens and freaks of nature that has joined up with her in the last few weeks. The idealistic Andalite Xelaman. The insufferable mutant Alexa.

There's a saying that a hero can be forgiven anything. I know I'm no hero. I've never saved the world, or the whales, or done much else but kill people. I know if I go back to Earth, to America or to London, I'll be locked up at the very least. I don't have much choice about what I do now. It doesn't matter any more.

I can feel the cold London air around me, rather than the warm Somolonanian night. I can smell the sharp tang of blood and cordite in the air, even though my nose tells me I'm smelling the scent of blossom on the breeze. I can see Juliet dead in the moonlight, as I look down on vast rolling plains.

I can feel her lips on mine one last time.

Maya talks about a new civilisation. Alexa talks about peace. Xelaman talks about a united Andalite and Elemaki world.

All of them are focused on the future. Their dreams are there, and I am bound to them now.

But my dream's in the past.

That's where it'll always be.


	2. Chapter 2

_The Deaf Chorus  
_

_Another decade  
Another war  
Another genocide._

Passing by in the night,  
It reeks of death,  
Its faceless visage hidden,  
By a blood-crusted cloak.

It walks slowly,  
Deliberately,  
Slaughtering millions at a time  
With its machete in one hand,  
And a rifle in the other.

There is no way  
I can miss the pleas of the wounded  
And the oppressed

All condemned to die  
By the inaction of their brothers  
Who hear not their cries,  
Because the whole world is chanting:  
"Never again. Never again,"  
Too scared to open their eyes.

_Noah Butsch Baron_

Chapter 2:

My name is Keav.

I'm your stereotypical twenty-four-year old Asian woman. Quiet, serious, and deadly.

Well, that last part maybe isn't so stereotypical, but that's what happens when you go through genocide.

I'm not quite sure what it was. Maybe it was watching my family die around me, either from the bullets that tore apart Ma's body, or the starvation that tore my older brother and sisters from the inside, or the sickness that ate Pa like a worm until he finally stopped walking, stopped talking, and stopped living…

People later showed me statistics from the Cambodian genocide, the people who died, the photographs of mass graves. They asked me about Pol Pot and the cursed Angkor who took over the country and declared it to be a communist paradise.

I refused to say anything and just let my hatred heat slowly, letting it come close to a boil but always pulling away at the last moment.

My memories are mine and mine alone.

That's why I don't understand what's happening here. I'm a part of something, and I'm not even sure what that something is. I know that these people are like me, though. We're all killers and we all have a reason for it.

I guess, after my brother Kim and I got out of Cambodia, after escaping being part of the glorious Khmer Rouge, after going through being a part of a an attempt to take over the world by the Yeerks… I never really wanted to be a part of anything anymore. Maya, the Princess, knows it. She knows that I draw away, that I'm quiet, that I'd rather not be a part of this War Council that I ended up being a part of.

But what can I say? We're all bound by the past, us Nadar. We all spend our time alone, re-living each bitter memory in an almost desperate attempt to purge ourselves of our guilt. Even Taylor, who is too heart sick to be a Nadar. I've seen her go off by herself and punish herself physically for her memories.

It hurts.

But you go on.

----

I grab my eight-year-old brother's hand and then my four-year-old sister's hand and pull them through the night. We say nothing as our bare feet silently creep through the dirt paths, pulling our unwilling bodies away from the camp.

We are leaving the body of our dead father behind.

"Where's Ma?" my sister Chanthavy asks suddenly and I bite my lip when she says again, "I want Ma!"

The sound of her voice travels out into the night and I turn on her and grab her by the throat. Kim kneels by me and wraps his hand around her hair and we have her helpless.

She freezes, fear coming from her eyes and I lift one of my hands and trace it down her once adorable face. She used to be the fattest baby around, I think. With creases and dimples and a baby smile. Pol Pot took that from her, I think viciously.

"Chanthavy," Kim says quietly, and the sound of her name runs over me. It means moon angel, or beautiful moon girl but tonight there is no moon to spill over and light up her face.

"You have to be quiet," I tell her. "Ma…"

Ma is dead, I want to tell her. The soldiers took her away and raped her and then shot their guns into her. Pa couldn't protect her because Pa was away working and then the sickness came and he died too and they'll kill us because we're new people, because we came from the city and weren't originally peasants.

We need to find our older brothers and sisters so they can tell us what to do but they took them away to work on farms based on their age and sex so we don't know where they are and I don't know what to do so we're going to look for them

So I can stop taking care of you and Kim.

"We're going to Ma," I lie. Chanthavy looks at me and believes me.

I let go of her and then take Kim's and her hand again. We start walking once more in the dark, and then Kim grips my hand tightly.

Surprised, I look at him and he is holding his stomach, moaning. Frightened, I shove him away and he doubles over, gasping. He tries to throw up but there is nothing in his stomach and he is too noisy so I grab him by his hair and pull him over to the side of the road with Chantavy.

We wait as Kim slows his breathing and as he whispers sorry to me. I don't say anything back and then we keep walking.

We walk past fields of corn but we are too scared to steal anything. They will beat us and kill us if they catch us so we go hungry but then Chantavy starts crying again for food and for Ma and I hit her and tell her that she must be quiet.

We keep walking.

I begin praying to the gods to keep us safe even though I know that the gods had huge slave-armies and that that's all we were now, the new people, slaves to Pol Pot and the Angkor.

I stop praying.

The road keeps going and we dart from shadow to shadow, hoping to keep away from any soldier that might be roaming when my sister sighs and falls to the ground.

We hear the pounding feet of the soldiers as she falls and for a moment I freeze and then I grab Kim's hand and we run off the road and hide, leaving Chantavy behind.

I hold my breath as two soldiers look at my sister's small body, as they joke about how she is dead and how a soldier must have brought her out here to screw her only to have the little filth die on his hands. I can hear Kim's breathing get louder, so I grip his hand tightly when one of the soldiers pulls his leg back and kicks Chantavy.

And suddenly I am not afraid.

My eyes flash and I stand up at run at the soldiers. I am only a ten-year-old girl, but my hatred that I have been stewing explodes and I take the soldiers by surprise. My fury surprises even _me, _but after one of the soldiers trip and after I kick him and yell I find myself lifted off the ground.

"You're going to die," he snarls and I look at him and I know that I will die when his rifle that is strung over his back twists around and the barrel points straight at his own head and the gun fires.

I fall as the other soldier gets to his feet but I'm smaller and quicker and I hate him more so I spring back up and grab the dead man's gun while it is still on his body and fire and fire and fire, letting the bullets riddle his body until there is no more ammunition.

I turn towards Kim who saved me even though I couldn't even save Chantavy.

We look at each other with empty eyes, a brother and sister in the middle of the night with no moon and then we turn as one and tear through the soldier's clothes and bags, robbing them of whatever they own.

We spit on them as we turn to go and then we leave all three bodies behind us, tearing into the food that we stole from the soldiers when the sky splits open and the stars come raining down on us.

Neither Kim nor I take much notice. The sky is the land of the gods and now neither of us fears the gods.

We are dead dead wrong not to do so.

-----

It was the Yeerks, as I learned later, that came down on my brother and me and "abducted" us, if you will. A single starship that had lost its way with a terrified Yeerk eager to grab anything to alleviate the wrath of her superiors.

That anything turned out to be two young Cambodian children who had just fled their murdered victims and were now entering territory near the Vietnam border, a border that all civilians avoided because of the strife there. But Kim and I didn't know that. And with no other human witnesses, it was easy for her to stun us with a Dracon beam and pull us on board until she found her way back to California where we were fitted with our own aliens.

I killed her later on. It was really simple – my Yeerk had some cause against her and so together we tinkered with the software that enabled the ship to respond without sentient intervention to obstacles that appeared on its immediate radar. She died in her next space battle when an asteroid that the ship would have easily evaded crashed into her small fighter, killing her and her gunner.

She had been a lousy pilot anyway.

My Yeerk was mostly indifferent to me. He used whatever tactics he needed to gain my obedience, but preferred to work with me as opposed to forcing obedience from me. And at that point in my life, I was mostly indifferent as well.

Whatever the others say, the Yeerks didn't treat me badly. Sure, I killed and infested dozens of innocent humans, even with my own hands, but life had robbed me of my innocence and taught me that no one is innocent. Don't scream and cry, I would silently tell the humans that pleaded and protested with my now strong twelve-year-old, then seventeen-year-old, then finally twenty-four-year old body. It's okay. Just give up. It doesn't matter. Nothing matters.

I'm a second gen Nadar. Haven't you guessed that yet? Just as bad of a life as the 1st gen, but while they respond with hatred and anger, I just don't care.

My brother is a 1st gen still. I saw him in the cages, full of anger as he shouted bitter words at the Hork-Bajir who paid him no mind. I walked over to him once and offered him a Pepsi that I had picked up in the voluntary host area.

He had slapped it away from my hand and hissed, "How can you do this? How can you sit with these Yeerks, these filthy worms who took us as children and forced us to be slaves? These slugs are worse than Pol Pot. They are worse than the Angkor. You were so full of hatred against them! What happened to that hatred that you can now sit with voluntary hosts," he spat, "And share food and drink with them?"

What could I tell him? That I just didn't care anymore? That to me, the Yeerks were better than the Angkor who killed and slaughtered us because of economic position? That the Yeerks were keeping most of us alive, and that most alive and a few sacrificed was better than all dead?

"The Yeerks aren't committing genocide," I said finally. "Better a slave than dead."

"I'd rather die!" he shouted at me and I looked at him.

"We were slaves to Pol Pot," I reminded him. "And you clung to life."

I picked up the Pepsi and handed it back to my twenty-two-year-old brother who slapped it away from my hand again.

"Tell me the truth," he insisted. "How can you tolerate these creatures?"

Because I am like them, I wanted to tell him. Because I only wanted a chance to live as others did. They want sight, they want sound. I wanted food and clothing and shelter. Maybe you don't remember as well our life before the Angkor. But I do. I do. And when the time came to take just a little bit back from the soldiers what they had taken from us, I didn't hesitate. You killed a soldier to save my life, dear brother. I killed one to take from him what he took from me.

I picked up the can of Pepsi and turned around and left.

I spent all of those fourteen years under the same Yeerk who taught me how to fly by giving me instinctive body reflexes that made me the best pilot in the entire galaxy. I could maneuver through two asteroids coming together at the speed of sound, I could hurtle through the atmosphere of an exploding planet, I could…

I could fly.

Sometimes, I think it was all worth it. It wasn't pleasant having another being control my every move, but sometimes, I think it was worth every hideous memory to be able to get into a fighter that was all my own, and know that I could take the craft to hell and back and still have it intact.

And when I got the morphing power I got the morph of the peregrine falcon and speed was my element. I was a vicious fighter and oh, I got such a rush from diving on someone from up above and hearing them scream in pain. My Yeerk, I know, was sometimes surprised at my joy but he accepted it. He, too, was indifferent.

It was my piloting skills that landed me in Tom's group. I asked my Yeerk to arrange for Kim to come with us, and since it was the only thing I had ever shown any feeling about, my Yeerk agreed. Like I said, he wasn't bad to me. He wanted my body to use, and wasn't interested in torturing me just for his amusement. If it kept me complacent, he would arrange for my brother to come onboard, and besides, Kim was a good fighter as well.

And the rest, as they say, is history.

Or maybe it's actually a prophecy.

My Yeerk came with us, by the way. He's still in my head at this very moment. I haven't told anyone yet, although the Princess seems open to having Yeerks as part of our little community. Jeremy's Yeerk is free and the freed slaves don't seem to find him odd. Another Yeerk came and it's free as well. So I'll tell the Princess about my Yeerk. I technically don't have to, since there is a Kadrona pool, or more like a puddle, that the Yeerks need to dip their pencil-case like shells in every week or so. I've already fed my Yeerk in secret, and could continue to do so.

He's grateful, but we remain distant. I was grateful, too, when he arranged for my brother to come, but that's how we live. I mean, he's been in my head for fourteen years and I don't know his name, and he wouldn't know mine if he couldn't read my mind. And that's the way we both like it.

Sometimes I think he's a 2nd gen Nadar as well. He has no ambition. He barely cares about life except as a mortal he retains at least a biological interest in life. He enjoys fighting as much as I do, though, and I think he would get upset if we could fight anymore.

But deep down inside, I don't think either of us really cares.

**Review Responses**

Hi. I know it's been a while. :has no real excuse:

Well, I do have something. I have to confess I've been losing interest in this story. Now, I promise I won't disappear forever like most of the writers here have been doing. Well, I won't disappear until after I at least finish the 3rd Nadar Chronicles. If I get inspiration I'll finish The Brother-Son but then I think I'm going to skip everything else and go straight to The End. It'll be sad to skip Mayanites: Nadar and Kyan because a lot of good stuff happens in it and I was going to have it show this new civilization in its golden age, assuming it happens, but I don't want to start it and then never finish it. So like I said, I promise to finish at least the 3rd Nadar Chronicles after this War Council fic, but after that I'm afraid it may be goodbye… but that's later. :grins: Onto review responses, which I haven't answered in over a month!

And disclaimer: The poem is written by one of my good friends and Pepsi belongs to Pepsi.

**Eyes of Forest **– And here's more about the War Council. :grins: And as for quick updates… um… I'm sorry…

**A-cat **– I'm glad you like the idea! I credit Wraithlord42 who sent me the last chapter from Jeremy's point of view. I wrote this chapter and the next chapter should be by him. We're kind of sharing this fic right now, but I haven't heard from him in a while so I might end up writing the rest of the fic alone, but I still do credit him with getting me started on it.

Jeremy is more apathetic than Maya, but in a little different way than Keav. Jeremy still feels, and in a way, still hates, while Keav, as a second gen simply doesn't care about anything.

I enjoy weird endings that tie back to something in the beginning. :grins:

Anyway, I haven't been in contact with you for a while! I'm sorry I've been so long, but I'm back for now!

**Birdie – **Oh, gah, I feel so guilty now for being slow with updates this summer. And yup, that was Wraithlord. :grins: This chapter was mine, but the next one should be by him as well.

And yes, here's the next chapter! Like I said in my announcement, I'm not sure how far I'll continue with these fics, but I will keep going until at least the Nadar Chronicles are done. And thanks again!

**Hey **– Thank you.

**HFN **– Ah, I'm sorry about that. But thanks for your review!

**Beekiller** – Thanks!


	3. Chapter 3

_This kind, this due degree_

_Of blindness, weakness, Heaven bestows on thee_

_Submit._

_- John Pope_

My name is Alexa.

I'm not human, even if I look it. I'm not any particular race. I was born from a bunch of genes spliced together in the Arn Quafijinivon's biomatter vats.

I'm never going to die.

Quafijinivon explained it to me once. He'd done something to my cells to make them regenerate and split impossibly fast. I can heal almost any injury in seconds. Even if just one cell of my body is left, it can use the same Zero-space technology as morphing to pull raw matter out of Z-space and turn it into living cells. I can synthesize oxygen for respiration; pull glucose out of Z-space to fuel my cells. I can take temperatures between 500 and minus 120 degrees Centigrade without flinching. My seemingly soft, frail human body is a powerhouse of biological and technological advancements. It's very worrying to many of the Nadar, to find someone proof against all their weapons and combat techniques.

I'm a nominal member of the Nadar Maya's little band of deranged violence junkies, although it seems a little too cynical to stereotype them all as mindless killers. I'm the little voice of reason trying to stop everyone from losing it completely and killing everything in sight. I'm the Guardian of the Kyan, a peacemaker in a world of war and hatred. I'm not sure whether this is because of my programmed peaceful nature, or just an inner desire to see an end to pain and death. Either way, I'm the one trying to keep the Nadar from committing xenocide, or worse. Even more so than the Chee.

I don't know why I joined Solethi's little mercy mission. The collapse of the Yeerk Empire on Earth and the subsequent series of massive victories by the Andalite fleet had left entire worlds ruined. Earth was a mess. The Anati system, the still-contested Hork-Bajir home world, Leera, Veruna, Acre, all were still ravaged by the great war between the Yeerks and the Andalites. Billions were dead. There were any number of places I could have gone to help save lives. Why I had joined a tiny unofficial Andalite task force on an unspecified deep space mission, I still don't know. Jenny the Chee, who had escaped from Earth, and stopped by the Andalite Home World before coming to the planet where I had been created, had wanted me along, for whatever reason.

I can see myself reflected in the Chee. We're both fundamentally peaceful; we both have to obey a series of directives implanted by our creators. We're both masterpieces of technology, created by a people long dead.

We're both going to live forever.

Immortality is a curse.

I envy the humans. Their lives are a constant rush. Their lifetimes are nothing to eternity, and yet they have enough time to cherish their lives and live to the full, dancing between the seconds in their long walk towards death. I have no time at all, and it is too much. They have only a little, and it will never be enough.

Maya knows she's going to die. It's something she has clearly long since accepted. Keav has. Jeremy has. I can see it in their eyes. I don't think Tom has yet. But then, Tom hasn't waded through seas of blood to an empty objective. Tom isn't really a Nadar. He's just a bitter and lost little boy, a pre-Nadar, if you will.

So Maya is utterly dedicated to her goals. Maya is determined to set up this civilization of Elemaki and humans, Nadar and Kyan. And Tom is dedicated to Maya.

So are Xelaman, and Jeremy and Keav and the rest of them, whether or not they've realized it. Xelaman follows Maya like a puppy. Keav doesn't speak. Jeremy seems resigned to whatever fate has in store for him. But they'd follow Maya to hell and back.

Maya's working to create a future. I think she may be seeking forgiveness from herself. Even in the twisted mind of a Nadar, there must be some remorse. Merciless killer or not, I think somewhere deep down she is sorry for the death and the pain.

But then again, as Jeremy is so quick to point out, I'm an overoptimistic fool.

Maya wants to see her civilization flourish. Maya and her Mayanites, Nadar and Kyan. Maya wants to make her mark on the universe. To do some good in a life of pain.

That's what I think, anyway.

But then again, I always try to see the best in everyone.

The assorted Nadar are mortals, normal creatures that will live and die. They have so little time, and yet – for the most part - they will die satisfied with their lives. That's what this little attempt at goodwill is about. They need to convince themselves they have done well. They could be making war against any evil they pick, an army of Nadar and their warrior Princess, but they're making tents in a backwater planet and spending their spare time plotting to save a few hundred humans held against their will. Peaceful by Nadar standards.

But there's going to be killing. I know it.

They're going to spend their lives on a crazy little project at the whim of their Princess, blinded by loyalty until she sends them all to their deaths. They're going to kill every one of these vampire spiders for the sake of it, not for any morals. They're fighting because they love it and they know it's going to take them all.

I can imagine the future in vivid detail. The glorious Mayanite civilization, rising above the lakes of blood shed in its birth. The Nadar dying, one by one, some in battle and some of age, and then a civilization of Kyan at the end, a peaceful beacon of hope.

But will it be worth it? Do we need a brutal war to create a peaceful world?

I still don't know.

I'm sitting in a tree above the Nadar compound, watching them all. We came back from a swift battle where we hid from the slaves what Nadar truly are. But I know better. I heard Maya give the order to Jeremy and Keav to kill all but one of the captive spiders, to hold one alive only so we could morph and possibly infest him. I know that they obeyed the Princesses' orders.

There will be killing here. And I can't do anything about it.

Jeremy and Keav are sitting at the edge of the plateau looking across the plains. They're holding hands. They're just relying on each other to keep themselves sane. They need the presence of another one who knows how they feel. I don't the idea of romance has even occurred to them. Romance… another thing my immortality denies me.

Tom is sitting inside his tent, awake, lost in his own thoughts. Xelaman is on the Liberty writing something on the computer. Maya is down in the trees, pacing impatiently.

Tom's going to die.

Keav's going to die.

Jeremy's going to die.

Xelaman's going to die.

Maya's going to die.

I'm going to see it all happen.

And I'm going to live forever.

**Review Responses**

This chapter was written by Wraithlord42. Thanks Jeremy!

**Eyes of Forest **– Glad you enjoy! I was having some trouble characterizing the War Council in the Nadar Chronicles 3, so yeah, this is a good way to step out and let them speak for themselves.

And aw, I'm sorry! I'm glad I abstained then, so you could eat your lunch. :grins: And yeah, that update was not… the best with speed… but this one is better!

**Hey **– Yesh.

**Wraithlord – **Ah, okay, that makes sense. I was wondering where you had gone off to. :grins: And thanks! Yes, your Alexa is here and the next one is Xelaman. I think I'm going to write him since I want to tie into his past after Maya cut off his tail, but I do want to send it to you so it'll be more of a combined effort. Anyway, glad to hear that you'll get internet back!

**Toby **– That's a good thing, actually, because I was trying to get that tone of indifference across. And I'm sorry that you've been feeling that way. :hugs: Anything I can do to help?

And no, it makes perfect sense. And agh, midnight, that is kind of late. Ten o' clock is usually the latest I want to go to bed. :grins:

It honestly depends on just how I feel. I will keep up to at least the end of Nadar 3. The thing is, I've been getting a lot of hits, and although that it slightly encouraging, at times, it's discouraging. I mean, I got twenty-two hits for Keav's chapter, but six reviews for it. The ratio is rather skewed, and I do wish that the people who were just reading would review even a short review once in a while because it's stuff like that which will keep me going for longer. But anyway, thanks for your review!

**Voodooqueen **­– That will come later, but right now she doesn't know the Yeerk's name. :grins: And thanks for your review!

**A-cat **– A-cat! I knew you wouldn't be long. I was waiting for you before updating. :grins: And yeah, it's just the matter of keeping going. I went into a long explanation in Toby's review response about how the hits discourage me at times, but like I said, I will at least finish Nadar 3. Then maybe I'll take a long break and try and get everything else written so that way I know I won't leave off in the middle of a fic. And thanks so much! I really do appreciate that. :hugs: And yeah, I know exactly what you mean by losing momentum. But I will keep going, so thanks for your encouragement. :hugs again:

Yeah, Keav is like that. Maya was almost vibrant, compared to her, in her grief for her brother and then for Eun-hee and Anna. Even though Maya's grief consumed her and turned her into a Nadar, she still did feel. I actually originally wasn't going to make her a second gen, but as I was writing, that continued tone of indifference kept weaving its way through, so I was like, this is perfect! A second gen. Keav probably has the ability to show a superficial amount of affection, but as for true deep trusting… it'll take a while, if it happens at all. And glad you liked the idea of the Yeerk!

And oh, my ficpress account – I changed the username to aricelily. I've been changing everything of mine to that one username, except for my fanfic account because I've been KP for too long and can't change that now. :grins: Anyway, thanks for your review!


	4. Chapter 4

_Speak of the gods as they are._

_ - Walter Bagehot_

Chapter 4:

My name is Xelaman.

They say that the gods who gave us honor and truth sometimes took Andalite forms to show us mortals what morality actually looked like. The ancients had visions of the forms that these gods would take, and these legendary tribes committed to stone great carvings of the forms of the god of honor, the god of truth, or the goddess of peace.

When my family first took me to the caverns I was young, almost two years old in Andalite years. I almost ran from the sight of the huge statue of an Andalite male who stood majestically on a platform that spelled HONOR in the ancient writing. I peered at him with my stalk eyes and almost shuddered when glancing at his piercing gaze. Who would serve such a harsh god as honor? I wondered.

When I came to the goddess of peace, I turned and asked my father curiously, (Why does the goddess have a slightly curved tail blade?)

I saw my father and mother exchange furiously quick glances. (A half-breed,) I heard him murmur. (We don't understand why the gods would have presented us with a half-Elemaki to represent peace… so many feel that the ancients were mistaken in this vision…)

I found her gaze just as difficult to hold, due to the utter intensity that shone in all the faces of the gods. The divine were so sincere, so passionate, and this goddess was no different. Her face seemed to speak of a being who had gone through terrible anguish and yet somehow had finally found peace and I knew subconsciously that she would be the divinity that I would strive to emulate.

A year later when I first saw the girl Elemaki slave, whom my father had brought with her twin, I couldn't believe my four eyes. For a brief instant I thought the goddess of peace had come down in mortal form, but as a child.

But no, I thought. It couldn't be. My father said that the ancients had been mistaken in depicting her form. Furthermore, this girl slave was a _vecol, _and the statue had all four eyes.

And besides, there was neither peace nor past anguish on her face, only fear, which was appropriate for an Elemaki, at any rate.

So I abused her brother and mocked her, until one day when I was practicing my tail blade exercises on her twin, she came and attacked me, cutting off my tail. Her face was full of anger, and hatred, a bitter mixing that frightened me into inaction when this little Elemaki child attacked me.

It fills me with shame to speak of how I treated the Princess and her brother. I watched as they killed him, sobbing, filled with my own shame at having lost my tail. My only hope was to join the military to gain the morphing power, but until then, I was a _vecol, _just like her brother and she had been.

And to speak honestly, the gods could not have done better than to drop that little Elemaki girl into my way and have her fierce loyalty to her brother change the course of my life.

Life before I joined the military was horrible. I was treated with derision and snubbed by my peers – and I expected it. Now, when I look back, I view it as something that I deserved for I would have treated anyone with my disability the same way I had been treated. And hadn't I? I had mocked the Princess' brother for his lack of a tail. When the Princess had lashed out, her brother had been killed while she escaped. But that was because he was an Elemaki. As an Andalite, I escaped at least murder.

My father pulled some strings and arranged for me to join an accelerated course that would allow me to gain the morphing power so I could train earlier than my other students. I was content – eager to get my tail back after all these years, and besides, I was a good student. Without any Andalites to accept me I had thrown myself into my studies.

I landed under the guidance and watchful eye of Solethi, who trained me well. Although I didn't know it then, he had been in forced retirement for the past few years because he was a third generation Nadar, but after the war with the Yeerks picked up speed he was called back to serve since he had been too good of a warrior to lose.

Solethi not only trained me physically, but mentally as well. He became my sole tutor, and I treated him as I would a prince. It was he who taught me to view the Elemaki as equal to myself, and he who smiled at me when I came up with the term Andalaki to describe the two races as one species. And at that point in my life, it wasn't that hard. Living as a _vecol _for almost all my childhood had taught me many things that even Solethi couldn't have shown me.

We maintained contact as the years passed, as I grew and came of age, and as I became a warrior. I was not known as an excellent fighter or a brilliant tactician but my skills at diplomacy earned me that promotion.

What can I say? I wasn't a Nadar. I'm still not a Nadar. I can fight, as any soldier in the military can, and I can even fly a fighter, but I'd always rather talk to the alien species, negotiate a settling rather than come in with blazing guns when our first request to land on a new planet is denied because of a misunderstanding.

I suppose I'm just a mild, well-mannered, male Andalaki. We aren't very common, you know. It was a unique mixture of my childhood and Solethi and my choices along the way that turned me into the mortal that I am now, and I can't say that I regret it. My past choices shame me at times, and at other times make me proud, but I am happy with whom I am, and that's more than a lot can say.

------

Right now I'm considered missing in action. I was sent on a mission to fight a group of Yeerks and was in charge of maintaining the supply ship that is now called _Liberty. _

It wasn't my first mission, but it was my first failed mission.

It was a tough battle, but not more than usual, and it looked as if we could be winning when an entire squadron of Yeerks rushed in, decimating our warriors in minutes. The rest of the crewmates in the ship instantly rushed out into the available fighters, choosing to end their lives in a suicidal battle rather than escape with the ship.

I was left alone on the ship, and although I know that I didn't consciously remain behind, sometimes I wonder whether my subconscious hesitated, whether it allowed for me to not rush as quickly to where the fighters were stationed so that when I arrived they would all be gone.

I watched as my crewmates died, unable to help them as my defensive guns had already been blown out, and then I escaped into Z-space.

And I continued to do the only impulsive thing I had ever done in my life and went to the Andalite Home World to pick up Solethi, who was by now a widower, before taking off under his guidance to a planet where he said he had visited once in his travels.

We met the Biolex there, a group of about fifteen. All immortals, their leader Alexa told us. They all looked like humans, of all different ages, from a boy who looked like he was five but had actually lived fourteen years, to Alexa, who was also older than her body told. The Ssintha were also there, a sentient mortal species that had been hunted by a species that the Biolex had banished. Eager to follow their protectors, these lizard-like creatures came with the Biolex.

And so they came with us, and then we ran into a small Yeerk ship that contained five escaped Chee who told us the details of the end of the Yeerk Empire as well as information about the Animorphs. They were still connected to the other Chee through the chee net and so also knew that the Princess had been captured on the Blade Ship at the very edge of the end of the war.

There was no way our ship that was built for transporting warriors, fighters and supplies could take on a Blade Ship, but we immediately began tracking it. It wasn't that difficult – one of the hundred that Tom's Yeerk had chosen had been a Chee in disguise, and so we steadily gained on the Blade Ship during that next month.

We gave less credit to the Princess than she deserved. We had been preparing to board the Blade Ship to rescue the Princess, with the immortal Biolex as the vanguard when the Chee that was planted on the Blade Ship alerted us and told us that the Princess and a crew of thirty had escaped on a transport ship and were most likely headed in our direction. She told us that she would stay on the Blade Ship to continue to be of use to us once we marshaled enough strength to come back and fight the Blade Ship.

I laugh now, when I think about it. For here we are, in a backwards planet with invisible natives – for I know they are out there, the Vampire Spiders would not be building a rock fortress in an empty planet – and we are struggling to reconcile our incredible knowledge of technology with the reality of this pristine existence.

But I don't mind.

For the Princess is here. She wants to be here, for whatever reason. And I owe her the opening of my heart, even though she did so inadvertently. And I am responsible for the murder of her brother. I am bound to her, and I will follow her for the rest of my life.

Maybe someday we will return to the stars. Maybe someday we will fly once more through black space in fighters so fast that Keav will be able to pilot them through black holes. Keav and a Biolex named An are both excellent pilots and they are teaching some of the former slaves to fly, so perhaps someday we will all rise to the sky and return to fight the Yeerks, and maybe even the Andalites, or the humans. Or perhaps someday I will go and speak to these enemies, from the Vampire Spiders to the Yeerks, and make peace between Nadar and Kyan.

But no matter happens, you will find me behind the Princess.

After all, she has the form of the goddess of peace. Although this puzzles me, I admit, since she is a Nadar, who knows what will happen in the future. Her face has the anguish now – what I am waiting and hoping and praying for, is the peace.

**Review Responses**

:is extremely puzzled: It's the fourth chapter and I've had nineteen hits for the last chapter and two reviews. Where aren't all you people reviewing? I really don't mind if you start now – as in, I won't get angry that you haven't been doing so before. But I'd at least like to know who you all are…

**A-cat **– Ouch, that is a pretty harsh ratio. I tend to be obsessive about reviews – like if I don't think I'll leave a review, I won't read the story, so as you can see, I expressed my confusion. But anyway, thanks for your encouragement – as long as I know that at least you're reading I'll be happy to keep writing. :hugs back:

Will do so! And here's a little more of a break from the Nadar hate as well as some foreshadowing. :grins: This one should be slightly more uplifting as well, and I think between the two of them the War Council should be kept from being too bloody.

Btw, random fact – I looked up the meaning of Alexa's name and I found out that it means "defender, helper." Isn't that an amazing coincidence? I really liked that it happened that way. :smiles: And thanks for your review!

**Beekiller **– Glad you like her. I'm beginning to like the Kyan characters a bit more as well. Xel is also peaceful although not immortal, but hopefully he has other qualities to make him stand out. :grins:

Oh, I'm sorry! You're right, I didn't know you had updated. I'll go read and review right now. Thanks for _your _review!


	5. Chapter 5

_It is very strange that the years teach us patience - that the shorter our time, the greater our capacity for waiting. _

_- Elizabeth Taylor,"A Wreath of Roses"_

Chapter 5:

My name is Solethi.

I married when was I was young. It was an arranged marriage set up by our parents, recommended by the priests and approved of by the government.

I had already served in the military, even at my young age, and my bride-to-be was the daughter of my prince. Although I was young and lowlier socially, my prince too had risen through the ranks and wished to see his daughter wed to one of ability, if I say so myself, rather than those of the upper classes that had grown bloated in their complacency.

My parents were ecstatic. And why should they not be? I was hard working, diligent and faithful. Why should they not be pleased that a prince had chosen me to wed his daughter?

In all honesty, I was indifferent to the marriage. My passion was with the military – I would treat her well enough, perhaps have a child with her, but would remain distant. There was no need to get involved with a female at this stage in my life.

I laugh at my words and my thoughts now, although that laughter is tinged with bitterness as I recall my beloved wife. Sometimes I wonder at the gods and their choices. Do they dance lightly on the strings of time, not caring who they affect? Somehow I can not believe that. For to have such a wife as I had, and to have her touch me in such a defining way, and then to meet the Princess…

But I jump ahead of myself. I was wed, I exchanged my vows properly if not warmly and then she became my wife.

It is hard for me to speak her name, even after such a long time so forgive me if I refrain from it.

We lived in this atmosphere for almost two years. I would rise in the morning to find her already awake, putting things to order. I would go to the academy where I was teaching and she would attend social functions, or so I assumed. She bore me a son and tended to him faithfully as well to the point that I really needed to do nothing around the house.

It was my young son who revealed the secret my wife was carrying and in a way, my young son who saved me. I had decided that his mother was having altogether too strong of an influence on him and that it was necessary that I showed him the power of the military to instill in him pride in his heritage and a sense of male strength.

But there was not much I could say to him. I showed him the academy, the rows of training _arisths, _the silhouettes of great ships rising with the dawn… and he watched, impassive, as I pointed each out to him. Finally, I asked him what he thought of all this.

With an innocence that tears my hearts, my son said, (I think I would prefer to do the work that my mother does.)

Alarmed, I looked at him. Did my son just say that he wished that he could perform social functions all his life? Had I made a mistake to leave him solely to his mother? I should scold her for being so domineering…

I cast my eye stalks down at my son, well aware that it had been my fault to leave him to his mother. But I was no father. I was a career soldier, and had no time for a family.

Aware that he had said something wrong, my son blurted out, (And she helps so many people! They love her very much for she brings them medicines and teaches them.)

Curious, I looked at him. What in the galaxies above was my wife _doing_?

(Let us go home,) I finally said.

----

My wife stood before me, not trembling, her face strong and her manner bold in a way I had never seen before.

(I am not my father's daughter,) she told me when I demanded an explanation. (My mother had a liaison with one of our Elemaki slaves when my father refused to sleep with her because she produced a daughter. In desperation my mother slept with our slave to try and produce a son but had me instead.)

(Did your father not know this?) I asked, almost shell shocked. My wife was sired by an Elemaki…

(My mother's husband often would absorb a little too much of the jilak root,) she explained quietly. (It was easy enough for my mother to convince him that in one of his moments of drunkenness he had come upon her. He was never very good at remaining abstinent.)

(But…) I spluttered. (But you do not _look _like an Elemaki.)

She smiled sadly with her eyes. (The slave was a quarter Elemaki. I am an eighth so my tail does not show enough.)

(But the scans! How did you get past the blood tests?)

(My mother is influential and has many friends,) she told me.

Flabbergasted I simply stared at her then asked her, (But how do you know this about yourself?)

This time she looked away from me, at the ground. (My mother never hid from me whose child I was. She was open with her derision, and blamed me for not being the male she had hoped for. I actually got to know my birth father quite well as he was still bound to us and he was the only one who showed me any love. My father was a career warrior, and could not care less about me.)

I shifted uncomfortably. (But… what work is it that you are doing that my son spoke of?)

She gazed at me steadily. (I know that when you hear of this you may hate me and beat me. I know that you may wish to divorce me although I know you will not because of the dishonor it would bring. But I also want you to know that I will never stop doing this work because it is the reason why I am here on this world.)

(Just tell me what you are doing.)

(I go to the Elemaki grazing lands,) she told me. (I go to the villages where children play in the dust, where the grass is pale and poor. I bring medicines and teach them how to read and write. I teach them of their heritage, a legend so ancient that only a few know it.)

(And what is this legend?)

(It is said that once a god came down to live among us. He was the god of time.)

(That is a common story,) I scoffed. (There is no secret behind that.)

My wife persisted. (But what you do not know is that this god was not really a god but a being so powerful that he could imitate a god. And this imitation of a god, who could play with the strings of time, came down and married and raised a family. This dream of a god left behind an ancestry and that ancestry is the Elemaki.)

I glanced at her. This would mean that rather than being derided… the Elemaki ought to be honored.

(This simulation of a god loved peace,) she continued. (And so his form was slightly different than the other Andalites. He had a curved tail-blade to make fighting more difficult, and so this is the blessing – or curse – that he bestowed on all his descendants.)

(And so you go to these Elemaki because of this legend?) I asked her, still unable to believe her story. My life was shattering around me… (Or,) I added cruelly, (Do you go to them because you are one of them?)

(I go to them because they are one of us,) she told me quietly. She hesitated and then added, (And I wish you to go with me next time.)

I stared at her flatly. (Are you joking? There is no next time. You will not be going. I will not be going. From now on I will take my son with me so you can no longer pollute him.)

(Your son is an Elemaki as well, husband,) and with that one line froze me in place. He was… he was! My line would be polluted forever because of this wretched female who I was trapped into marrying…

(Come with me,) she pleaded and I could not understand her. What was she thinking? That I would actually go to the Elemaki?

(You are not a bad man, husband,) my wife told me and I looked at her for a moment. (You are not a bad man. You are capable of so much good – I know it! – if only you let me show you how.)

There is a god that not many Andalites know about. This is the god of humility and as my pride struggled, this god touched my heart and let me act without the fetters of arrogance.

(Only once,) I told her. (So I can see what acts of treason and insanity you are doing. And then never again.)

(Thank you,) she whispered, and then traced her hand down my face, kissing me in a way that we had never before kissed. Clumsily, awkwardly, I reached out to do the same and realized that this was the first time I had shown her any affection.

I would be a good man, I told myself. Or at least a good husband. I would see her madness – but perhaps I could love her despite it.

---

A year later I was smuggling Elemaki out of the continent to the Island.

I was the first full Andalite to join the secret society that promoted Elemaki freedom and my position as an Andalite was invaluable. I was the one who first heard of the plans for genocide, to reduce the population of the Elemaki so that the Andalites could have more resources. My position in the military allowed me to have almost unlimited access to transportation vehicles and we made good use of them. I also traveled, meeting new species and learning their cultures and further adding to the definition of sentient life.

My sons were also involved for my wife had raised them well. Following in their father's footsteps, they had joined the military and turned to smuggling Elemaki out of the continent with me.

Although it was a dangerous time for all of us, it was the happiest time of my life. To think how that happy time was destroyed, how our peaceful activism was cut to pieces…

I had not been aware of it at that time, but I learned later that the government had become aware of my activities. Unwilling to take public action against me (my reputation as a fierce fighter and a loyal Andalite had grown) they sent my sons to their deaths on suicidal missions before forcing me into retirement.

It was in retirement that I found the little half-breed who called herself Mayanamar. I helped her out of the continent as I did all Elemaki I found and then thought no more of it.

Thirty, forty years passed and then I was pulled out of retirement to fight the Yeerks. It was then I found Xelaman, then that my wife died, then that I learned about the victory of Earth and the escape of the Blade Ship with the Princess on it.

Xelaman begged me to come with him to rescue her. And in the end, I think I agreed more out of despair than anything else. I was a marked man. The government had killed my sons, had sent assassins to do away with my wife by poisoning our grasslands and I could not graze for fear that I would be next. What else was there to do?

In my travels I had met the Biolex and it was to them that I first directed Xelaman. The Ssintha came with us and then when we found the Chee. We were an odd mixture of mortals and immortals, Nadar and those unable to commit any violence.

I do not know what I am doing here, frankly. I do not know why this old body and mind that remembers a time before the Yeerk war, that remembers a time when the Elemaki were more numerous than the Andalites, are here. I am a relic of the past and yet here I am, struggling to create a new future.

War has fed me and in the same hand destroyed me. It has killed my family and given me meaning. I am a third generation Nadar who can not let go of war, even at this age.

I am out of place. I know it. Xelaman is the only one who really knows me and he dotes on the Princess, desperate to gain her full forgiveness.

And I?

I watch. I try and help in my own small ways, I offer advice, but when it comes down to it all I really do is watch their lives unfold.

I just watch. There's nothing else left.

**Author's Note**

I'm back. And hopefully updating more frequently. I will not be using this section to respond to reviews anymore since fanfic has so kindly allowed me to respond right away using an email system. If you comment anonymously, however, I will probably respond to you in this section. But anyway, a big thank you to those who encouraged me to get back, and although I feel like I'm out of this generation of writers… I'll try to keep going.


	6. Chapter 6

_One should rather die than be betrayed. There is no deceit in death. It delivers precisely what it has promised. Betrayal, though... betrayal is the willful slaughter of hope._

_- Steven Deitz_

Chapter 6:

My name is Tom.

You know the one memory that I can't ever escape from? The one nightmare that constantly haunts me, no matter how much I try to run away?

My fist going into Jake's face.

In my dreams, it always starts out in that rehabilitation center for the blind, Jake pushed up against a bed, held in place by two Hork-Bajir. I hit him, and then his face morphs into _her_ face, and she is looking at me with two black eyes, bruises on every inch of her face, and blood coming from her nose, her mouth, her eyes. The way she looked at me for an entire month while I laughed and laughed and laughed...

But do you know why that one moment stands out to me? Not because he was my brother and my Yeerk made my fist hit him. No. It's because I hated Jake at that moment, more than anyone, even more than my Yeerk. I wanted to kill him for leaving me to be a slave. When my Yeerk hit him, I was glad.

His own brother! I've listened to all the justifications, I've read all the records, and I know why he left me. I know it was the best over all, that it would have caused too much suspicion, that it was me or Earth. But sometimes, I can't help but think, you could have faked my death, I would have fought for you, I would have done anything, and you left me there and you tried to have me killed...

Sometimes, even the memories of torturing Maya are preferable to thinking about Jake. He was my kid brother, you know? I picked him up after school, I took him to his activities, I stood up for him and made sure that no one would pick on him. It's an unbelievable, unbearable betrayal and sometimes, I wonder, did I not return to Earth to punish him? To make him wallow in his guilt? See, I know Jake. I know sending Rachel to kill me would eat him up. Am I deliberately not contacting Earth so he can feel a little of the helpless agony that I went through for so many years?

If so, yeah, I'm a horrible person. Deal with it.

Nobody talks about Rachel. Ever. The Princess doesn't speak of her - I don't think she even allows herself to think about her. The only time that she mentioned Rachel's name was when we were discussing what to call the village that we live in, and Maya said, Rachel. We live in the village Rachel.

No one really argued with her about it. She named the eight moons after her Nadarlets, as well, and the great plains that surround us after Oscar. Sometimes I think she's still in denial about their deaths, of all the deaths that happened around her, and that maybe they'll still be living, if only a little, if they have namesakes.

It's easier to speak of her as the Princess than as Maya, although I can talk about her by her name when she's not there. When she is there, she's the Princess. That's it. Maya was the girl I tortured; the Princess is the woman I serve.

I love her.

It's a helpless, hopeless love, I know. I tried to distract myself from it by spending more time with Taylor, but Taylor is completely platonic to everyone now. She'll knock you down if you tell her she's beautiful, and if you try to charm her, she'll refuse to talk to you until you stop.

Maya isn't like that though. It's like she doesn't hear it if you say something nice to her - she's completely business. Wake up for a handful of breakfast, no time for chat, strengthen the defenses before lunch, kill a spider on the way to tea, and then inspect the troops before a mouthful of dinner and bed. She's amazing really, a perfect War-Princess, and she really does care, no matter what Alexa says.

Okay, so, yeah, I don't know, maybe I'm just gushing.

You know what I'm desperately afraid of though? That I don't actually care for her, that this is all a twisted way to gain her forgiveness, or that my feelings are actually just left over from my Yeerk's desire to dominate over her. There. I've said it. He loved her too, in a sick, warped way. I could tell by the way he caressed her, by the way he planned the next torture session. He wanted her to love him, he wanted to work together with her forever, but she never bent. Never gave him what he wanted.

Xel loves her too. Except he's not as desperate about it. Hell, all of us are in love with her. The escaped Controllers, the former slaves, all of the Arisths, the Ssintha, the Biolex, we're crazy about her. I don't even know why, she's not exactly the most charming person around. But there is something about her that drags us all in, that makes us all orbit around her as if she were a star with an exceptionally strong gravity field.

Or maybe she's just a black hole.

But you know what's even crazier? Even if she is just a black hole, we'd still follow her. We'd die for her, we'd go to pieces for her. Or maybe just I would.

They tell me I still act like a kid sometimes, which is kind of funny, since I _am_ still a kid. I'm only 19, not even old enough to legally drink back in America. But I guess in this group of hardcore Nadar, I'm still the most random, the most... _happy_ person around. I know sometimes I have trouble controlling my emotions, that I still act like a teenager, which I am one. Sure, I fall into periods where I hate myself, where I hate what happened to my life, but yeah, there is a difference between me and them. And I know what it is.

The worst crime I ever committed, I didn't commit. My body did, under my Yeerk's control. The rest of the council... they're all guilty. Guilty of murder, of taking pleasure in death, of horrible things that I don't even want to know about.

Me, I'm guilty of hitting my brother.

And I'll never forget it.

**Author's Note**

Hello, everybody. It's been a while, hasn't it? I'm back, hopefully to the end of Nadar 3 although I don't think I'll be able to continue it beyond that. Maybe, we'll see. At any rate, this is the last chapter of the War Council, now I'm going back to finish Nadar 3. Hopefully some of my old reviewers are still around…


End file.
